She told me that she died last Wednesday. It wasn’t a gentle end. She’d had no water for thirteen days and no food for months. She wanted to die but it took seemingly forever. What a will, what resolution. Poor love. She told me that she’d found notes all around her house saying how she wanted to die. Wanted it, so much. The end wasn’t a gentle one. She told me that she was fitting and her mouth was parched. Poor love. Such effort to come into the world and such effort to leave it. For some, that is, not all. May she rest in peace.
